


Farrago

by xsjb (zpnn)



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse, Artificial Intelligence, Broken Bones, Character Death, Child Loss, Drunk crying, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gory Mental Image, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infertility, M/M, Machines, Magic-Induced Schizophrenia, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Old Gods, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Scarlet Crusade, The Scarlet Crusade, The first one is a little revised, The first two chapters are older work, Undead, concussion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:59:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5977713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zpnn/pseuds/xsjb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles for my World of Warcraft role-play characters. Writing practice, insight into their lives, etc, etc. Title's probably not a final thing. Still need to work these things out, I suppose. Tags to be added as I add more stuff. Some of the tags on right now are just tagged for future stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. snap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited from previous pieces of the one-shot.

Sylindia stirs, slowly blinking and squinting up at the sun.

No. That's not quite right - she squints, and the light is more... orange. Not quite piercing, but not very comfortable either. The forge, then. The heat is warming her face more than the sun, and the floor beneath her is stone. It should feel natural being underground, but to Sylindia, it certainly isn't. Hundreds and hundreds of moons ago, before the dwarves touched this mountain or even laid eyes upon it, it had been whole and stood tall. Though it still looms to this day, the innards have been gutted. Sylindia feels it is different, but not much so, from hollowing out the guts from a fish. Perhaps it was necessary to do this, even if it is unsightly and confining.

One thing perplexes her, though, and that's how she got here in the first place. The uncomfortable pain grumbling up in her left arm and the uncomfortable feeling in her back indicate she'd been lying awkwardly, and it's clear she's no longer in nature or in a bed. The relative silence is punctuated by loud metallic clanks and bangs. Her ears twitch, and one of the tips brushes against plate. She looks to it - silver and orange. A plate pauldron belonging to one of the Ironforge Guardsmen.

Some of the memories come running back when she looks at the thing, in jagged edges and snatches. Ironforge. Not the accommodations the Lionblade Hold had been using - she remembers entering a different building. A thinner building - two stories tall. Familiar scents, magics... she'd followed something in. But that something is still nagging at her, though, and she blinks, attempting to remember as she peers at the ceiling. Some of her peers had gotten into a fight against a mass of beings some days ago; she'd been resupplying for her guild for the journey back, or trying to, until several shots and shouts had her attention. Unfortunately, this part of Ironforge was also crowded, and she'd spent the next minute trying to simultaneously get her order sorted and try to figure out what had been occurring. This was a hard feat when the salesman was almost lost in the crowd that slowed both of her progresses, and not at all helped by the human males who brushed by her on the way without so much as a warning to move.

She'd been unable to make it back straight away, but when she did, it was already over. She had watched from the shadows as the guardsmen who had arrived on scene led her guild mates away. Not to arrest or detain them, but to question them. The magical battle had gone on... bizarrely, it seems. The only thing left on the walls were dark purple scorches and the remains of one unlucky chap who had caught a body full of concentrated light, kudos to Sylindia's closest friend. Naaru's Justice, indeed. As some of them were officials, it had become a diplomatic task. But something had niggled at her. She'd wished she'd followed them, though at the time she'd known that such was not her duty. Her friend, the one who worshipped the Naaru, was competent in his job and also the Commander. As Sylindia had not been there, she would likely have been useless at the talk as well.

It turns out that it was a trap. Her comrades and friends had handled it remarkably well and efficiently. Sylindia finds out later that both guardsmen died - they'd been puppets but completely lost to Dellya's thrall. She adds two more tallies to the growing list in her head. True, it's a useless thing to do, to count the amount she's taken, but Sylindia feels... responsible. Even if Dellya could easily have killed way more than she'd have otherwise known about. But after that?

After that, it's uncomfortably blank. It is coming back, slowly, like a guilty dog, but it is coming back at any rate. A chilling pair of silver eyes. Venomed words, a staff threaten posed across someone's neck. Purple blurs of magic that burned and fizzled, a kind she'd only come across relating to one-

"Voidoak," Sylindia growls to herself in frustration.

She curses to herself in broken snippets of Common and Darnassian. She remembers enough to know where this is heading - she'd come to hunt down Voidoak, or whatever had attacked the Hold. Dellya wasn't the same as she was. A grimace. No, it had always been there. Sylindia hadn't seen it. She wish she had.

She hadn't been thinking straight back then and it hadn't changed, because she hadn't thought of anything but the blood pumping through her veins like lava and of finally seeking justice for all of the destruction Dellya had wrought. It had taken it's toll on her, and her temper was ordinarily such a hard thing to break. In a way, she'd almost continued the cycle Dellya had begun by attempting to destroy her. It wasn't the real Dellya, of course - it was a fragment. A fake Dellya, made with a piece of her decaying mind.

The discussion they hold was laced with venom. This Dellya can hardly be reasoned with - she is vastly different from what she had once been. Dellya always had a way of getting what she wanted, and she rubs this in Sylindia's face metaphorically. Every time they meet. A knowing look passed between the two this time and it had set Sylindia off angrier than the Midsummer's fireworks. Perhaps Dellya had incited the emotion through their twisted link. Perhaps Sylindia really was done with it.

But despite this, some things are still the same. Dellya had folded her arms in the way she always had - eyes narrowed in the way that would tell everyone she knew just about enough. What did she know? Sylindia had stopped caring. They had come to a terse agreement, they had that exchange, and then Sylindia had had enough and pounced. It meant a fight, either way. It was too crowded for Sylindia to comfortably take on her ursine form, and the debris scattered around her feet would make it unwise even if she had. The first half of the fight is spent defensively - the fragment is the most powerful she's encountered so far.

True, Sylindia had gotten a few hits in, ended up damaging the fragment enough to hopefully destroy it... but it had exploded, and that's the last thing she remembers.

Sylindia always could see through that. Dellya knew what she knew - had since she'd taken control of her for the first time, since - since those years -

Momentarily, her heart throbs painfully in her chest, something she refuses to allow to show, not even to herself. She is no longer that kind of person. Instead of thinking about that so much, Sylindia attempts to push herself up with her left arm. Only the world explodes in pain, the limb collapsing under her as she falls back to the floor. Her vision flashes white and she grits her teeth to keep from making any noise; she should be used to this by now, but it still hurts.

When at last the pain ebbs to a throb, she begins to push herself to her feet, heart pounding in her chest. The world spins and she almost falls again, heart jumping into the back of her throat. Sylindia knows she can't just stay lying here, though - the house doesn't belong to her, but to one of the dwarves Dellya had taken control of the night before. The guards could be here any moment. The next time she tries, it's with her right arm. Thankfully, this one isn't suffering the same fate as her left, and she grips onto the edge of a table as she brings herself up. The tiny victory makes her feel stronger.

If she could just get back to the Lionblades...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted under deviantART and tumblr. My writing tumblr is incenseandink if you're curious. However, this is an improved and remixed version of the tumblr and deviantART versions. All belong to me, so I can do what I want with it. Muahaha. But really - I'm making this place my main place to post work because it's so easy and clean.
> 
> The referenced guild - The Lionblade Hold - did exist, but has since disbanded. It later became the Consolidated Consortium. It's on hiatus. It might come back, though. I was briefly a part of the officer team, in fact! They're a great bunch. I'm still in contact with a few of them. So they're likely to appear in some of Sylindia's other drabbles, too. Anyway... Remaard is only mentioned in this chapter, and so are a few other unnamed guildies. They'll have bigger roles later. Shoot your questions at will because I love them.


	2. a bad memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylindia loses her mind somewhere in the years she lost to Dellya. Sometimes she fishes it out for a while. A tornado is wilder on the inside, and this one sends her mind spiralling into it full force.
> 
> Where does it land, but the worst place of them all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this earlier this year. Isn't my best work, though. I need a bit more practice, I think! This is a repost of a story I wrote for Sylindia Stormshadow early to mid 2015. Not sure when, exactly, so I'll repost it here too. It was based on a role-play that happened around that time, albeit they didn't actually see what happened for obvious reasons. Sylindia was with the 'Lionblade Hold' here as well. She had a flashback and suffered (another) mental breakdown. Not her first and not her last.
> 
> It's not fun and she's still recovering. She's a stubborn bastard when she's actually lucid. Old god magic does that to you- I mean what. What do you mean, Old Gods? I never mentioned an Old God.
> 
> Anyway, credits.
> 
> Sylindia Stormshadow, Ansethaes Stormshadow, and Dellya Voidoak belong to me.
> 
> Woodsong belongs to Raimon. Clarita belongs to Kieran. Neilonia/Worgen Warlock belongs to Timothy. Valkyria belongs to Danni. None of them have tumblr accounts or deviantart accounts (to my knowledge) so, yeah. They all exist on WoW, though under varied usernames. I had permission from them all prior to posting this anywhere.
> 
> Slight edits; not as much as the first chapter.

I don’t want to remember this. I’m pacing in my room at  **The Pig’s Snout**  but that is not what I’m really seeing. I’m shaking, and I don’t know what I’m suddenly grabbing but it ends up smashing against the wall, shards landing in the spare bed and on the floor.

I can’t stop. Suddenly I’m back in Ashenvale. Two beds become one, the wardrobe becomes a bookshelf, and my ribs reject all air.

The Worgen warlock appears in the room at some point but my mind can only scream  _threat_ ,  _it’s a threat_ , as she comes at me, looking at me in the eyes. My ears pin back and I growl, instincts taking over. It is not the warlock that I’m seeing any more, but Dellya, advancing on me.

_No no no no no!_

_The stack of books I’m carrying drops to the floor, papers scattering everywhere. I look to our bed, but she’s already awake. She looks at me, eyes narrowed. My stomach knots up. I feel anxious. Scared, even._ _Dellya doesn’t like it when her research gets mixed up, so when she rises from the bed, moving toward me like a moving tempest, I know I’ve messed up. Before I can apologise, before I can even offer to pick the books up again, she puts a finger over my lips._

_“Shh, we’ll sort that out later,” Dellya purrs, her eyes on mine, and she seems to sense my confusion at her reaction too, as her eyes crinkle at the corners.  
_

_“I’ve been thinking,” Dellya continues, starting to lead me to the basement instead, “About your reward.”_

_“What do you mean?” I ask, but she chuckles in response, tapping her nose.  
_

_“Mind your step!”_

_We go down the stairs, and it’s all I can do to not fall as she suddenly speeds up, gripping harder. She locks the door behind us, then grins wide, extending her arms._ _I look around - there’s nothing, but then I turn to her and she’s suddenly got her hands at my robes, beginning to disrobe me. I go to carefully grip her wrist instinctively, but she swats it away._

_“What are you doing?” I ask her, but she ignores me - pressing her lips to mine. She finally gets my robe off, and I freeze when her hand moves to my chest, squeezing roughly._

_Then she starts undressing herself as well, and her hands start moving lower, her mouth moving to my neck. My whole body felt numb. I wanted to scream. I tell her to stop, I don’t want this, but she doesn't listen. There’s something in her left hand that pushes somewhere I don’t want it to go, and -_

For a moment, I’m not in the basement, and she’s no longer there. There’s a taste of blood in my mouth, and the door has been kicked from it’s hinges. The worgen warlock isn’t here anymore, and Valkyria and Clarita are watching me. They are unharmed, but when Valkyria sees me come back to myself she hugs me, wondering if I’m all right, worrying, worrying. Their eyes are unsettling and unsettled, and I bite down on my lips. Hurts.

Then I remember why I’m here and I can’t say anything. It’s not fair. Why did this have to happen to her? Why her? She never deserved something like that. I’m still shaking. For her. Valkyria never deserved this.

I hear something about a trip from outside, and that’s what she needs. She needs to get away. A lot more than she needs me. I force myself to lie to her, because I’m suddenly scared again. Someone else is here, too, Clarita, and I think she sees through it because she stays, even after she sends Valkyria off.

Then Clarita starts asking me what happened and the room is fading away again. I can’t breathe I can’t breathe i cant breatheicantbr _eatheicantbreathe_

_When she’s done, when she’s finally done with me and bored of her games, I'm curled up in the corner, sobbing. Dellya gets dressed and leaves the room as if nothing had happened, saying she has a bit more research to do today, and locks the door behind her. She leaves me with my tears, and takes my dignity and virginity with her._

_I have so many thoughts going through my mind. What if I tell someone and they don’t believe me? Was it my fault? I thought Dellya loved me, if she did, how could she do this to me? Not to mention the multiple feelings I had. Shame. Guilt. Anger. Fear. But most of all disbelief. How could this happen?  
_

_She lets me out a few hours later, and I scramble home without further words to her, even as she’s saying I’ll find nobody better than her, wiping tears away with the back of my wrist. I know she’s right. I'm home by dinner, but I eat nothing that night. I go straight to bed. Ansethaes, big brother, peeks his head through the door. He knows I’m not sleeping, not really, and sits on the edge of the bed._

Woodsong is holding me down. He’s whispering soothingly, hugging me firmly, and I sink to the floor, exhausted. I remember apologising and crying and murmuring things I can barely make sense of.

_I began to cry. I told him, told Ansethaes, what happened. Neither of us are old enough to know what to think of it, really, but he squeezes my hand, telling me I had to tell our parents. I didn't want to. He offers to, but I tearfully ask him not to, because I was scared and helpless and maybe I did deserve it. This reward, she dubs it. He kisses my head and doesn't leave me that night._

_It starts sinking in over the next few days, and to the outside world, everything is a dull buzz. I can’t think of anything but what happened, over and over again, and I'm working automatically. One of my arrows completely misses the target and hits the tree behind it, instead, and my sisters-in-arms are concerned too. I don’t tell them. Dellya’s a lot closer to them than I ever was._

_I can’t avoid Dellya forever, though, and I end up returning to the house almost two moons later to apologise to her. It was my fault._

The next time I wake up, the door is locked. Remaard is talking to someone downstairs. But the storm has faded, albeit suddenly, and I burrow myself into one of the beds. I don't emerge for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylindia blames herself but it really isn't her fault. Rape is bad and awful. Always have explicit consent before you bang. Please.
> 
> Sylindia suffers from a myriad of mental disorders thanks to previous events. Though she's recovering, she's still got some way to go. It's a slow process. Mental illnesses don't really exist as labels in WoW, since there's not a huge world development on psychology, or at least not that we know of, but those are the closest descriptions. It meant her dismissal in the sentinels later - not as a punishment, but because her sisters wanted to see her get healthy in mind.
> 
> To clarify, though Sylindia blames herself and whatnot, this is/was rape. It's wrong. It is, however, a realistic portrayal of what she thought. Character development brought this full circle when she came to accept that Dellya was very wrong in what she did. And that not everyone can be redeemed.
> 
> And then she and her good friend Remaard killed Dellya and everything was good. Even if she was a giant snake lady cultist person. Things got fucked up down the line and I think there'll be retcons. But is she gone for good. though...? Well, we'll find out.


	3. Smite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A drabble by literal definition. (Exactly 100 words.) Astilide Covington in her Scarlet Crusade days, though I intended it as a throwback for when I did RP her as a Scarlet back in Cataclysm. If I bring her back in Legion, I'll have to rewrite her history again so she fits in.

The rain falls without pause, flooding in like the next wave of undead that crashes into our ranks. We stand strong, a bastion of scarlet cutting through the rotting lands we once called our home. If they could feel, the dead would fear us.

My blade finds its home in the eye of one of them, half rotten with an eye socket on display. The rotten target is breached and exceeded, providing easy access to slay the monster it has become, and it falls prone as the next one staggers to us.

There is no time to think. Proceed onwards.


	4. cogs and sprogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another literal (exactly 100 words) drabble.
> 
> This is for Julfizz Berrysteel, or Lolihic. My gnome warlock. I've never really roleplayed her that much, but she was a former tinker who turned to creating tattoo art instead. At least art didn't die. Her husband and machine children, on the other hand...

I used to create living machines that could learn and grow, would know exactly how to repair themselves if they lost a leg or blew a fuse. My machines started to learn how to want and need, how to reason and reassure. They would, one day, become excellent members of our glorious society. They could have been teachers, or doctors, anything they wanted.

They were my children, the only ones I would ever have in a world like this. When their motherboards and chips eventually broke and died, I felt loss I never wanted to repeat. It hurts too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now she's Sylindia's tattoo artist and occasional drinking buddy. I still have problems trying to role-play her at the moment; I guess there's still a lot of development to do.


	5. Northrend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i psosted this to my guild thread i need attention ok

With Dragonblight comes a feeling of dread. Dark, thick, rolling clouds obscure the fading sunlight, and the path I ride through is deserted. It has been for some time. Given the weather, it isn't exactly a popular destination, but I must persevere. Everything in me demands it. The chill begins to settle into my bones. The air is frigid, absolute, all encompassing - I feel every gap in my armour, even through to what lies beneath.  
  
I am not one for this cold.  
  
From what little light that has these frozen stretches, little has touched the trees. The snow weighs them down, clings to it - makes the water freeze in shards that make as fine a weapon as many. I clench my fists tighter on the reins and urge my horse onwards. I can't bear to stay in this forest too long - my mind is already steps ahead, planning where I should go next,and after that. Contingencies. Food.  
  
New Hearthglen.  
  
This is a long awaited journey, but one that will pay off. A pilgrimage. Searching. _Something_. A purpose. The people. Hope was dwindling with every one of my former brothers and sisters I'd find in death, who had lost their way to caring for those already departed.  
  
Would I be the only one to believe in this way? The only one to see the undead as the filth as they were? The only one who had known how grand the humans of Azeroth had once been?  
  
I cannot let this die with me. I press on.  
  
Though the land around me is quiet this late in the day, I don't risk letting my guard down. I am no fool. The undead have their reasons for their quietness - their vile plans, their scheming... the rot in long deceased, staring eyes and their vacant chests... I urge myself forward. Not long, now. not long. New Hearthglen looms in the distance, as imposing as ever, albeit damaged.  
  
Giving up isn't an option. My path has brought me to this mission, searching for my brothers and sisters. Not in blood, but in cause. Brothers and sisters I'd believed could have been in these once sacred lands. Lands that we would make great again. I make my way through the gates, a prayer on my lips, gratitude for the mercy the Light has shown today.  
  
I will find my brethren.


	6. fall apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> needed a vent honestly

Sylindia tries to pour herself another glass of Gilnean whiskey, but her hands shake and end up spilling a small portion onto the bench. The spicy amber starts soaking into the dead wood, and it's alright - the bench can get drunk too. She finds herself chuckling, but it's mirthless and bitter. What a funny idea. The benches aren't alive. They don't speak or listen.

Not like the trees do. Not like the birds, the sabers, her sisters and brothers. The world's a little tilted, so she rests her head on one elbow to look into her mug. She remembers accidentally stealing this during a night in Ironforge, and that day turned out pretty similar to this. She still feels bad about it, though - maybe she should return the mug if she's back again.

This time, Dellya is dead. She thinks. She still sees her. She alienated enough from those she had once been close to enough to know that they should be safe now, if she isn't really dead. She's gotten too used to seeing two instead of one. Her eyes watch the shaking surface of the drink in disinterest. In one of the corners of her studio, her latest project sits uncompleted. Maybe there's dust gathering on it, but she doesn't look.

She takes another gulp - this time from the bottle - and hardly feels the burn in her throat as the liquid scorches at her inside. Maybe it's a little sad that she's used to it, or so her daughter thinks, but her daughter doesn't understand.

It helps her stop being herself for a while.

She stands up to start reordering everything. It doesn't really help, even when she takes the bottle with her. She's pretty sure she's mixed up the dire wolf hides with the westfall wolves - one set is more coarse than the other - but she doesn't care about this. She sorts it by colour.

The world tilts again when she's sorting, and Sylindia finds herself sitting against the shelves crying about absolutely nothing. Again. Dellya stands and watches from the window. Again. She swigs from the half empty bottle, cries, watches the not-real Dellya and drinks some more. Again.

It's all repeating, and Sylindia can't find a way out of it. She's forgotten how to be strong like she was. Once she finishes the bottle, she rolls it away with a heavy clunk. Her eyelids droop, and she's tired. So tired.

She falls into a dreamless sleep that she hopes she won't wake up from, even as she feels Dellya's scaly hands in her hair, and she forgets everything in the morning.


End file.
